


Words Not Said

by EternalGalaxies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, John's POV, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalGalaxies/pseuds/EternalGalaxies
Summary: This is about the aftermath of Sherlock's jump from the rooftop. How John reacts, and what words he wanted to say but never could.





	Words Not Said

**Author's Note:**

> Ignore minor discrepancies between this and the episode, please.

"Goodbye, John."

Panic. That was the only emotion he felt. John saw Sherlock toss the mobile away from him in slow motion. He saw him lean forward about to fall. He saw him, but a part of his brain refused to accept what was happening. Sherlock couldn't be doing this, he couldn't do this to John. He saw him fall, and he started running. Then the cyclist knocked into him, and he fell. 

When at last he got to Sherlock, he knew just by looking at his body, that he was gone. John grabbed his wrist anyway, and prayed for a miracle. There was no pulse. Of course there wasn't, Sherlock was dead. But John knelt there, praying to any fucking God that would listen, to just bring him back. Tears streamed down his face, and he sat on the pavement even after they took Sherlock's body away. Eventually, someone gently pulled him into a standing position, and he saw a young woman with black hair. Her lips moved, no doubt uttering words of comfort, but his storm of thoughts and grief drowned her out. 

Somebody took him home, back to 221B Baker Street. He curled up on the couch that Sherlock spent so many nights on, solving cases in the middle of the night.

John couldn't look at Sherlock's empty chair, the chair he would never sit in again, glaring disapprovingly at potential clients.

He couldn't look at the lab equipment in the kitchen, couldn't look at the door at the end of the hall, Sherlock's now empty room. Mrs. Hudson sat with him, and then brought him tea, tears running down her face as well. Eventually he fell into a haunted sleep.

He didn't remember the funeral. He sat next to Mrs. Hudson, and stared blankly ahead. He knew he should speak, but if he tried to talk, he would surely burst into tears. Afterwards, he stood by the gravestone, the black stone that served as physical proof Sherlock Holmes had existed, had run hand in hand with John Watson down the streets of London once.

He spoke the words he wanted to say, except for three he couldn't unless Sherlock, alive and well, stood in front of him. Which would be never again. So he concluded his emotional speech with four others, a plea for an impossible miracle.

"Please don't be dead."

_"I love you."_


End file.
